Alone With Him
by Assimbya
Summary: An expanded version of the scene in the novel where Glyde finds out the name of the man Laura loves. Deals with mature subject matter including spousal abuse.


"_He insisted on it – I was alone with him – I could conceal nothing." – Laura, The Woman in White, Page 322_

They were at a party. She was holding a glass of white wine in one hand, though she drank very little from it. They were both dressed nicely, she in a silk gown of pale blue that matched her eyes. Her mind had been only half on the conversation, half immersed in her own thoughts, as it often was these days. She was so dreadfully lonely here in Italy, without Marian with her, and with only the faintest memory of Walter to comfort her. She was examining the sketches as she gave short, polite answers to all the questions Mrs. Markland asked. But one sentence drew all her attention back to the conversation.

"I have had all sorts of teachers, but the best of all, the most intelligent and the most attentive, was a Mr. Hartright. If you ever take up your drawing again, do try to take him as a master. He is a young man, modest and gentlemanlike – I am sure you will like him."

A dozen replies came to her mind, none of which she could speak now here, with these people around. Oh, God, not with her husband at her side, watching her so carefully! To give no answer would be rude, but what could she say? "I did have him as a teacher once, and I loved him more dearly than I love my husband." That was the first answer that came to her mind, yet she could never let it pass her lips, not any longer, not even if it was just Marian she spoke to. But she could see him in her mind's eye, his coal black hair, his gentle brown eyes – so different from her husband's, which were bright, but not gentle. She still loved Walter; she knew that, even though she shouldn't, even though she was Lady Glyde, not Laura Farlie any longer.

She didn't speak. She kept her eyes focused on the drawings that Mrs. Markland had made. It was probably her own fancy, but she thought she could see some of Walter's style of drawing in them. Maybe he had sat next to her as she made the drawings, maybe his hand had guided hers – oh, no, she could not think of that now! The tears came to her eyes, making it difficult to see the drawings clearly, and she blinked them away.

It seemed an eternity till she looked up, but it was really only an instant. When she did look up, it was straight into her husband's eyes. They were hard, and cold, and there was an anger in them that made her sure that he had interpreted her tears correctly. He knew – oh, God, he knew!

His words only confirmed her fears, and his voice was as polite as it always was in company, to her alone it seemed cruel, and his eyes never strayed from hers, not looking towards the other guests. She wanted to look away again, to escape his cruel gaze, but that would be too conspicuous now. "We will see about Mr. Hartright when we get back to England. I agree with you, Mrs. Markland – I think Lady Glyde is sure to _like _him."

Oh, God, he knew!

She felt her cheeks burning red, and her heart beat faster and faster. It felt as though the innocent love she had shared with Walter was something disgusting, depraved, sinful. She didn't say anything, for, again, what could be said? Her fingers played nervously with a strand of her hand, and she sipped from her glass of wine. She saw out of the corner of her eye her husband taking a large gulp of the glass of brandy he held.

The conversation turned to other things, and less than a half an hour later Percival turned to her. "Lady Glyde, I think we better go home for the night. We have matters to attend to in private." Laura nodded, and her husband bade farewell to their host and hostess and the other guests.

He said nothing as they left the party, nor as they sat in the carriage and drove back to the hotel. She spent the carriage ride with her hands twining together in her lap, that old childish habit she never seemed to be able to get rid of. When they reached the hotel he got out of the carriage first and took her gloved hand to help her out, just as he always did. For an instant she thought that he wasn't angry anymore, that the danger was gone, and she was relieved. The feeling continued as her followed her upstairs, as usual.

But when they entered the drawing room, she heard the soft click of the lock in the door, and her heart began to beat faster again.

He then pushed her roughly down onto the nearest chair and held her down with his hands on her shoulders. She felt a panic, and wanted to get away quickly but his hold was firm, and he towered over her as he stood, looking positively terrifying.

His voice was harsh, brutal, that tone that she always feared and had heard all too often since their marriage, since the time at the tomb of Cecilia Metella. "Ever since the morning when you made your audacious confession to me at Limmeridge I have wanted to find out the man, and I found him in your face tonight. Your drawing master was the man, and his name is Hartright."

The tears came to her eyes again, and she didn't try to stop them. She nodded wordlessly, unable to speak. What had happened to the kind man who wooed her, the one who she didn't love, and could never loved, but who had thought her admirable for making that confession? He was gone, and had been gone from the instant they had seen her name written out as Lady Laura Glyde.

"You shall repent it, and he shall repent it, till the last hour of your lives." Here there was a cruel malice in his words, and she knew that she would not be going to bed without a bruise somewhere. He had only raised his hand to her once before, normally being content with simply chastising her in that cruel tone of voice, but something this night made her certain that he would not be content with just that. And he had been drinking so much brandy this night as well…

"Now go to bed and dream of him if you like, with the marks of my horsewhip on your shoulders." She gave a little gasp of shock and horror, and he said, with a cruel satisfaction. "Don't be so surprised, did you think I wouldn't keep proper control over my own wife? Take that dress off, I wouldn't want to ruin the expensive silk."

She couldn't stop crying as she took he dress off, feeling naked in only her corset and petticoats. No, surely he wouldn't do this to her, not for the mere crime of having loved Walter…and he had known that, did the name make any difference? Surely he would not beat her, not as he did beat his dogs and horses – and she always winced at seeing that, soft hearted as she was.

He got out his horsewhip and instructed her to hold onto the back of the chair, and she did so, still crying. She managed to speak, a plea. "Please, Percival…" She used his Christian name rarely, often trying not to acknowledge that he was her husband, but in this case it was what came most naturally to her lips. But he cut her off with a firm, chastising, "Lady Glyde."

And she said no more.

He brought the whip down upon her bare shoulder, and a loud _crack_ pierced the air. She cried with the pain of it, and the humiliation. She had never been treated like this before, and had never imagined that she would be. She thought that she had married a good, kind, thoughtful man, not a beast who would hurt her such! His voice was harsh, and slightly slurred. "Don't cry out like that. The servants might hear."

As though in direct reply to his earlier words, a memory returned to her unbidden.

_His hand rested lightly upon hers, and it seemed natural, as if that was the way things were supposed to be. But when he noticed that he had done so he blushed and moved his hand. "I'm sorry, Miss Farlie –"_

_She smiled and moved his hand back to where it was before. "Just Laura is fine."_

_He smiled back at her, as though unable to do anything else at her smile. "Laura, then."_

She was pulled out of the memory of those happier times by the feel of the whip hitting her other shoulder. _Crack._

She didn't cry out that time, though she had to bite her lip to keep from doing so. She could hear his heavy breathing behind her, and he coughed again, that malady still plaguing him even when he seemed in all else to be some sort of inhuman monster.

_They leaned over the drawing, their heads close together. They were so close that they could hear one another breathing, and when a strand of hair fell into her face it blocked his view of the drawing as well, and she hurriedly pushed it back. She leaned down further, and her cheek brushed his, only slightly, but they both blushed at the contact._

The third time she stumbled, and had to grip onto the chair more tightly. _Crack. _She could feel her blood running down the back of her corset.

It only went on for a little while longer, and then he stopped. Lowering her head to hide her tears, she put the blue silk dress on again, though she knew it would get stained with her blood. He kissed her cheek, which was wet with tears, the gesture feeling strangely gentle after what had just happened. "Go get ready for bed. I will join you later."

She nodded and went to her bedroom in silence. The maid, Mary, was there, and from her pitying glances Laura knew that she had figured out what happened from the tears on her cheeks. She would have sent her away, but if she had guessed what happened already than it could do no harm. And she would figure out from the bloodstains on her corset anyway.

Mary was silent as she helped Laura out of her dress, but made a half-suppressed gasp of pity as she started undoing the stays of the corset. Laura said nothing to that. What could she say?

After she had changed into her nightgown she lay down in bed and waited for sleep to come. One thing, however, disappointed her.

She didn't dream of Walter.


End file.
